


memento vivere

by galacticdrift (Ancalime)



Category: Zombies Run!
Genre: F/F, Gen, post-s2, s2 spoilers, s2m40
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-07
Updated: 2014-01-07
Packaged: 2018-01-07 20:45:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1124198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ancalime/pseuds/galacticdrift
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Remember that you must live.</p>
            </blockquote>





	memento vivere

**Author's Note:**

> I started thinking about Paula after the end of S2 and made myself sad.

People left their stamp on a place, when they'd been there long enough. Sorting and rearranging things, making adjustments small and large to shape their environment to their hands. When Paula walked into the Abel hospital, she was struck with such a powerful sense of Maxine's lingering presence that tears sprung to her eyes and she leaned against the metal counter.

Not that tears were ever far from her eyes these days, she had to admit. Everything was looking more than a little bleak these days, even now that Van Ark was out of the picture. With him had gone, as she understood it, several key members of Abel Township, and that was _before_ the mystery audio signal had sent some of the remaining residents wandering off into the wilderness. Of those left at Abel, not many trusted her, but if nothing else, they recognized the need for trained medical personnel, no matter how shifty their previous circumstances. And with Maxine gone God knows where, if she was even still-- Paula cut off that line of thought before the knife could dig any deeper.

The fact of the matter was, she'd been thrust into the shoes of the doctor everyone loved after having been, no matter how unwillingly, previously in the employ of the man who'd caused every single person still living at Abel varying degrees of physical and emotional trauma. Once a week, or otherwise as needed, she'd be escorted to New Canton for a session with their plasmapheresis machine, but aside from that she was Abel's problem and Abel was hers.

The drawers were as she remembered Maxine preferred them, instruments of all kinds, some makeshift and some genuine, scattered among the drawers and cabinets according to the habits she'd picked up during her time at Queen Mary's. Her handwriting decorated every openable surface, notes scribbled on masking tape giving clues of varying usefulness as to their contents.

Paula took a few minutes to familiarize herself with the layout, opening everything that could be opened and checking what was inside, picking up scalpels to check edges and taking stock of the single-use supplies such as gauze and bandages. Off in one corner were file cabinets and a battered laptop, Paula's next stop; she spent hours poring over Maxine's notes to see what progress she'd made in reversing the effects of VS-72. At one point she realized she'd been staring at the same page for at least five minutes, not taking any of the information in, just rubbing her thumb over a trio of exclamation points Maxine had jotted in the margin, blue ink impressed deep into the paper in her excitement. The rest of the research would have to wait for tomorrow, Paula decided.

Stepping into Maxine's tent, assigned to her out of a mixture of sympathy and pragmatism, was not exactly worse than the hospital, but not exactly any better either. Maxine being who she was, the hospital was more obviously lived-in; the tent bore few signs of personalization, flat surfaces even starting to collect a little dust. But in here, Paula could sit down on Maxine's cot and bundle herself up in the bedclothes that smelled like her -- pretty strongly like her, in fact, which Paula realized with a spike of bitter humor that she was almost grateful for. Never before had she considered "insufficient running water for frequent baths" to have a silver lining.

She'd gotten a glimpse of Maxine's tent before -- before everything, after everything else, in the whirlwind between when Sara Smith died and the celebration later on. Just a quick peek inside as the two of them rushed from one place to another. Now, Paula tucked her legs up onto the cot and lowered herself down to lie on her side, hair flattening on one side as she rested it on the sad-looking pillow Maxine had boosted up with a heap of clothing underneath.

Next to the cot, right within easy reach, was a battered leather purse, barely the size of her outspread hand. The top flap was open and the corner of a photo peeked out. It looked familiar, and when Paula pulled it out, she blinked through vision blurred afresh at the snapshot of the two of them in a pub, arms tight around each other and crowded in by a group of their mutual friends. The lighting was terrible and the flash had given them both glaring laser eyes, but Paula remembered when Maxine had the photo printed, down at a corner shop, and took it in to the hospital to tape to her locker door. She said she loved it because of how happy they both looked.

When she'd fished out the picture, something glinted inside the purse; Paula sat up and dumped it out on her lap and a handful of small treasures fell out -- Maxine's keys and wallet, a pair of small gold hoops -- along with the CD she had recorded at the University lab near the start of the outbreak. God, it felt like lifetimes ago. The CD shook in Paula's hands as she turned it over and over, staring at nothing, tears streaming down her cheeks as the iridescing plastic sent faint glimmers of light above and all around her.


End file.
